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September 20, 1998.

"On Friday Pixie came to pay a visit,
By Saturday, we'd learned a thing or two.
She said, 'Quentin's comin' round
To look for work in town.
And would you mind if he slept on the cot?
And I suppose that I should mention
Now I've got your full attention,
That he & I are planning to tie the knot.
(What's next?)
(What's next?)"

- the first verse of Trevor's tribute to Q & Pixie Stix, sung to the tune of "Kansas City" from the musical Oklahoma.

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Having been enjoined at the wedding by both Stacy and Pixie Stix to get my online act together, I feel an awful lot of pressure about this entry. After all, it unites two diaries into an unbreakable nexus till death do them part. Oh, I'm exaggerating. But still. Trevor & I met in June, in a tartan shop. He was looking for a kilt for his sister's wedding. I was looking for something to wear to the rum, sodomy & the lash party last July. Now we've been to both events & the loop has closed. A new book, opened & waiting to be filled. I'm just glad that I can start out the entry by saying:

Wow.

And again: wow. What an amazing wedding. Definitely the best I've been to...it left Jessica's nuptials in the dust months ago, surpassed my cousins' mid-80's Italian weddings with relative ease, and even edged out Baby Jenks' wedding for top place in my heart, much as I'm loath to admit it. Part of it was the antipathies that sprung up in the expected places - on one hand there was the traditional family gathering at a lovely house, an ancient British justice of the peace, the bride in ivory silk & the groom in a Campbell kilt, lots of flowers and tulle... On the other hand was the very real pop culture presence & subversion of tradition - the wedding gown was bought 5 years ago for $6 at Value Village, the groom is German & not Scots (best quote on this came from Paul B., who pointed out that although Q may be German, there is no possibility of dignity in lederhosen, only of bratwurst), the best man & his girl came dressed for a rave, and the bride & groom went raving after the reception (after a brief stop-over at the Garden, of course).

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I'm trying very hard not to be a jerk about this, but I much preferred the hidden quirks of the bride & groom to the open rebellion expressed by the raver contingent. I know that the only important thing is if Q & Pixie Stix minded (and they didn't), but it knaws at me a bit. The ravers seemed more concerned with looking out of place at the rave that night than at looking out of place at the wedding. Although I must admit, it was sorta cool that the best-man's face was covered in metal & that he wore big pants & a shirt that said "porn star" to the ceremony.

But ultimately, I have to go with the Jesus & Mary Chain on this issue. When they did Lollapalooza, they were interviewed about the subculture of piercing & tattooing, and their answer boiled down to, "some of it's cool, but we resent the idea that you have to show off. We don't need them. We know we're freaks. Fuck off." That's why I'm glad that I can pull off respectability once in awhile. And what's more subversive...adopting an antagonistic stance or adopting only the appearance of normality?

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Anyway. Far too much ink on that. But while I'm on the subject of appearances, I should state for posterity that Trevor looked fucking amazing in his full formal kilt get-up. It was utterly hard-core of him to go to those lengths when he wasn't even in the wedding party, and it was a flawless get-up. I was at once glad & a little dismayed that I hadn't the wherewithal to join him in Scots attire, but he deserved to shine unencumbered by comparison. I was very proud to be on his arm, for all the obvious reasons & then some.

It was neat how Q's decision to wear a kilt brought out the dormant Scots in the bride's family. We've already dealt with Trevor's garb in detail. Campbell ribbon was everywhere, from the bride's bouqet to the decorations to the presents. The aunt who offered her family's house for the wedding has 2 daughters who do Highland dancing, and one of them (Spike) plays bagpipes. Trevor characterized it as a white bread family taking a rare opportunity to be ethnic. It's odd how dignified the Scots get up is, "So I Married An Axe Murderer" comparisons aside.

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The day itself seemed specially orchestrated towards a wonderful ceremony. Instead of rushing around for an afternoon service, rushing to a picturesque location for photos & rushing to a utilitarian hall for indifferent food, everything was relaxed and ordered. By 11 we had arrived at the house, and spent an hour or so roaming around & chatting about the arrangements. When the wedding party arrived, we all went to Kelsey's for the kind of amusing & chaotic family banquets that never seem to work out for my family. Trevor spent much of the time colouring a kid's place-mat with the complimentary crayons. When he was done, I labeled it "[TREVOR] AGE 24." You know...that kind of lunch. Much of our conversation concerned last weekend's rave & the oddness of the day. Pixie Stix turned utterly white when it was pointed out that she was eating her last meal as a single person. We laughed, but thoughtfully, if that makes sense.

And as the afternoon progresses, various relatives slipped into their formal wear with little fanfare - like a cosmic cross-fade into the new mode of wedding. The arrival of the Toronto shuttle bus was a bit like having the film catch fire...but damn interesting nonetheless.

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The wedding itself was simple & lovely. No one rose up to break the magical silence that filled all left-over spaces in the ritual. Beckett apparently wanted to orchestrate the pauses in his plays. It's funny how you think such things are ridiculous until faced with such a simple ritual. Meaningless pleasentries, a brief delving into traditional symbolism, names, power-words like "promise" "love" "forever" "death" "life"...and one walks out the other side transformed. A different person than before. It makes concern for metal & fashion a trivial prattling in the face of something utterly profound.

Yesterday Stacy jokingly accused me of being sentimental, despite my cynical pose. But I was truly & utterly touched: by the babies running around (one only 3 days in this world, and in the mistaken belief that her fist was an important source of nutrients), by Spike on her pipes, by the transcendence of the bride & groom, by the reflection of people I love in the faces of strangers. By the vise-like grip of Trevor during the ceremony, leaving me with 2 white lines on my hand and a pounding pulse. By the calm, carrying volume of Q & Pixie Stix's vows. By the gaity of the couple - they didn't snap at anyone or each other the entire day, when most marrying couples are tense enough to bite the heads off of squirrels & low-flying aircraft. By the simple goofy conviction that love can work out. I tried to keep it a secret, but you might as well know: I think my faith in romance has come back.

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And then we got pissed.

I'd drifted in & out of inebriation all day, keeping a nice buzz on to offset my innate fear of strangers. I never quite made it to full-out trashed, but my world certainly lacked hard edges for hours at a time. It was fun loading up the bride & groom, though. In the course of the celebrations, I managed to launch a champagne cork off the side of Pixie Stix's head & bounce a beer cap off Trevor's (this last was intentional, as he'd just made a lewd remark about his kilt to a table of celebrants). Scout (the youngest sister), however, remained unscathed.

I believe I've mentioned that some of Trevor's extended family thinks that he's gay, and that my presence at the wedding had a certain element of breeder in it. I tried to make the most of this by insisting on referring to myself as Trevor's consort, spurning the ambiguous "girlfriend" and recoiling somewhat from Robi's suggestion of "fuck puppy." Not that much explicitness, thanks.

I suppose I must spend a few words on the throwing of the bouquet. Corinne & I had spent a while speaking on this very subject in the early afternoon, and she wanted it bad. I think that she & I were the only ones who weren't trying to avoid it. And although I had my hand buried in the flowers, I let go for her & collected a few roses & carnations that fell during flight. So you should not expect that anytime soon the ringing noise you hear will turn into Tisiphone's wedding bells. Someday, pets.

This is also the time we were treated to the full version of the parody song exerpted above. It seems that the Campbells have a tradition of writing parody songs when one of their own gets married. These parody songs concern the couple & are based on Rogers & Hammerstein musicals in general and Oklahoma in particular. Trevor's song was brilliant, if I do say so myself. Not only was it funny & well-written, as parodies hardly ever are, but with Grandma on piano & Trevor exploiting his self-described "half-octave range" to the fullest, it was easy on the ear. I can't help but wonder who will be subjected to "Surrey with the fringe on top."

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By the time we got on the shuttle bus to the city, I was utterly exhausted. We'd considered going to the rave ("Q & Pixie Wedding Afterparty, $5 cover..." *snort*), but only had enough energy to accompany Robi, Paul B. & others to the Garden. Oh, the snobby stares as I sailed through the doors with a kilt boy on my arm & a light blue & green dress floating around my hips. Hell, I was wearing light turquoise nail polish to hide the lingering traces of black, and holding pink flowers. Pink!! I actually made Paul S. & Brenda smile by wishing them a happy anniversary (it's their 6th). But although I called on Palaver to come out, the long day had taken its' toll. Pausing only to feed Robi one last pink rose petal & receive a friendly pinch on the butt in return, I headed home with the ailing Trevor. Home to mice, home to endless diet coke, home to slack. Home. Finally.

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one year ago today: the brilliance of marilyn manson

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